


Such Disguise

by TARDIS_stowaway



Series: Illyria [4]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossdressing, F/M, Fluff, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-28
Updated: 2010-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TARDIS_stowaway/pseuds/TARDIS_stowaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A visit to a misogynistic planet requires Rose to make a little extra preparation in the wardrobe room, including a fake mustache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such Disguise

**Author's Note:**

> This little bit of semi-crack is part of my Illyria series, though no prior knowledge is necessary. Really, the only reason this is set in that universe is that you can't have a Twelfth Night theme without a bit of cross-dressing. If you're new to this series, here's all you need to know for the moment:
> 
> -Three years after Doomsday, Rose met the Pete's World version of the Ninth Doctor, whose TARDIS is shaped like a ticket booth.
> 
> -The Doctor initially didn't want to take Rose aboard. For this Doctor, it has been forty years since the Time War, mostly spent alone. Luckily, our Rose is a persuasive and capable young lady.

_Conceal me what I am, and be my aid  
For such disguise as haply shall become  
The form of my intent. —Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, I.ii._

  
* * * * * * * * * *

  
It was a bad plan.

“This will never work,” I told the Doctor as he looked me over.

“Lower your pitch when you speak,” he recommended.

“Not a chance in hell of working,” I grunted.

“That’s a little better. Are you sure you can’t do something about _those_?” He gestured vaguely at my breasts.

“I’m already wearing a sports bra two sizes too small with a scarf binding them down on top of that. There’s only so much they can compact!” I complained. This was definitely going on the list of the stranger undergarment ensembles I’d worn in efforts to pass unnoticed in different times and planets. At least I got to wear fairly normal trousers and shirt. The newsboy cap was from my own closet, so obviously that was fine. The steel-toed boots were a bit much, I thought, but the Doctor insisted that the increased stompiness of my walk would help.

The Doctor walked around me and tilted his head sideways to better inspect the problematic parts. He sighed. “It’ll have to do.”

I grabbed a jacket off a hangar and slipped it on. “Any less obvious now?”

“It helps. You know, on Hah’Vepth Six they’ve got this great serum that can regrow…” he started, reaching out to touch my hair.

“For the last time, I am not cutting my hair off!” I snapped. “I don’t care what sort of advanced alien miracle shampoo you’ve got to fix it afterwards. I like my current style, and we’re not messing with it for one stupid planet. The pins will hold it under the cap. End of discussion.”

The Doctor didn’t say anything, but I didn’t need telepathy to tell his opinion of foolish human vanity.

“Can’t we go some time after they’ve had a feminist revolution or something?” I asked, trying to find a solution that let me breathe.

“The engine parts I want are only manufactured during this era, and besides, the revolutionaries burn down all the famous architecture. You don’t have to come along, you know,” he said more gently, laying a hand on my shoulder.

“I know. Thanks.” I smiled at him. “I want to come. We’ve been stuck in the vortex for over a week while you did those repairs and I’m getting cabin fever. Besides, cross-dressing is a new adventure, and adventure’s what I signed up for.”

“There’s my Rose,” he said fondly, then wandered off to rummage around in some drawers at the other end of the wardrobe room. My breath (what little I could draw with my chest bound up like this) caught in my throat. _My Rose_. Just a few weeks ago he’d insisted that he didn’t want companionship in the TARDIS, and now I was his Rose. Whatever that meant.

How about the other way? Was he _my Doctor_? I had a few weeks with him compared to two years with the Doctor back in my home universe, but my blue box Doctor was gone. They are so very alike but not the same, not even in the way the pinstriped Doctor I lost was the same as his big-eared former self. Is the fluttering of my pulse at this Doctor's touch a betrayal? File those under questions to ponder, but not right now.

The Doctor reappeared, holding out the results of his search. It was a fake mustache, the same shade of blond as my hair. It wasn’t a ridiculous bushy or curling carnival mustache, just a thin pencil mustache like a young man’s first successful facial hair.

“Gee, Doctor, you bring me the best gifts,” I said sarcastically.

“What? You’re worried the disguise won’t work. Facial hair will make you much more convincing.”

“You’re probably right. Give it here,” I demanded. I sat down in front of the vanity and carefully stuck the mustache on my upper lip, the Doctor watching from a perch on the edge of a table.

“How does this look?” I inquired. He wandered over to inspect the mustache at close range.

“Very handsome, considering,” he pronounced.

“Considering that I’m actually a woman and therefore am not doing so well on the masculine handsome scale?” I arched an eyebrow at him.

“Considering that you’re human,” he explained, ruffling the mustache with a finger.

“Stop that! It’s not all the way set yet!” I batted his hand away. “I’m just not sure even the mustache is enough. Some girls can pull off the androgynous thing, but I’m not one of them. I’ve got girly lips. I’ve got girly hips. No matter how good we make this costume, I’m still gonna look like a woman in drag.” I frowned at my image in the mirror. I’ve never been the sort to hate my body because it’s not tall and twiggy like a supermodel. Living in a “bouncy castle,” as it was once so vividly described, has definite advantages. Now, though, my curves were a problem. I tried adopting a slouching, bow-legged posture, but I still didn’t look remotely masculine. Maybe if I spit and scratched my crotch a lot? God, this was ridiculous.

“Humans rarely visit this planet. The Pabib have seen pictures, but they aren’t tuned in to the finer differences between your sexes. You’re dressed like a man, you’ve got facial hair, which is a male trait for them as well, and you’re out in public like a man. It won’t occur to them to question,” he reassured me.

“Look, I know women are considered property here, but maybe I should just pretend to belong to you. It won’t be fun, but at least there’s less potential that somebody’s going to see through the disguise and throw me in jail.” I chewed on my lip anxiously. I was going to have the hardest time not scratching off the itchy mustache.

“We can’t do that,” the Doctor said firmly. “Upper caste males are allowed to take any females they take a fancy to. They have to compensate the owners, but the owners can’t refuse to sell. I could lose you like that,” he warned, clicking his fingers. His eyes flashed at the mere mention of someone buying me away, which was rather flattering. “And before you suggest it, I can’t pretend to be upper caste because non-Pabib aren’t allowed that status.”

“Right then,” I sighed resignedly. “Cross-dressing it is. I think all this disguise needs is a pair of socks.”

“Rose, I hardly think the socks you’re wearing matter much,” he said. Suddenly his eyes narrowed. “You aren’t wearing the pink socks with the ponies on them, are you?”

I snorted. “My blond comes from a bottle, Doctor. I’m not that dumb. The socks on my feet are fine, but I’m thinking that if I can’t get rid of the body parts men shouldn’t have, maybe I can at least manufacture the ones they should.”

I had to restrain myself from laughing as understanding hit the Doctor like a board over the head. His eyes flicked ever so briefly below my waist.

“I see. You know where the socks are. I’ll go set the coordinates.” He strode out of the wardrobe room rather faster than normal. I let a very unmanly giggle escape.

* * * * * * * * * *

As advertised, the engine part stores in the city were among the most impressive I had ever seen, and I’ve been dragged to quite a few engine part stores (and tool shops, electronics markets and junkyards) in my time travel career. The Doctor was clearly having a grand time, and I was happy enough to follow him around eating the mysterious but very tasty fried things he’d bought me (alien food: don’t ask what it is and you spend much less time retching in horror) and looking at the justifiably famous architecture. The sun was a bit too hot, my breasts were squashed, and I was uneasy at being in a place with a social system I considered abominable, but overall it was a quiet, pleasant day out.

Something was bound to go wrong any minute.

As we walked along the street between shops (my hands stuffed in my pockets so I wouldn’t unthinkingly pick at the mustache or take the Doctor’s hand, a big no-no on a planet that considered homosexuality even worse than uppity women) a great commotion arose among the pedestrians. Everyone pointed down the street, where I saw a procession of the hovercars that were the usual motorized transport around here. These particular hovercars, however, were painted with elaborate designs that glittered where the sun struck gilding and inset jewels.

“That’s a mite gaudy,” I whispered to the Doctor.

“It’s the Queen’s motorcade,” he whispered back. “The Pabib are highly patriarchal throughout their society, with the glaring exception that their supreme leader is always female.”

“Why doesn’t she do anything about how the other women are treated?” I asked, giving the hovercars an angry glare. The only females we’d seen were in a cage in the back of a store. Their round alien eyes had a horrible dead look, and the Doctor had needed to grab my arm to remind me not to do anything that would get me arrested or worse.

“Status quo treats her well, so why would she want to upset it? A few Queens have tried, but they tended to meet with tragic accidents before their reforms got implemented.” The Doctor shrugged. My mustache twitched with my anger, but it obviously wasn’t the Doctor’s fault and there was nobody else I could safely argue with. I craned my head to get a better look.

The motorcade halted. About a dozen burly guard-types piled out followed by several servants in colorful livery.

“Her Royal Highness Queen Muob, Ruler of the Pabib nation of Noble Lion and its colonies Wise Eagle, Bad Wolf, and Frisky Lizard,” proclaimed a herald in a ringing voice.

The Doctor elbowed me. “Bad Wolf again!” he murmured.

“That’s hardly worth being surprised about any more,” I whispered back. “I’m more curious about Frisky Lizard!”

“Sometimes even with the TARDIS doing her best translating some phrases make more sense in the original language,” he explained almost sheepishly.

The doors of the car directly in front of me opened to reveal the Queen. She wore a gold gown with enormous hoop skirts and her jade-colored hair flowed past her waist. Two servants unrolled carpet in front of her so she could step out of the car without her feet (three-toed hooves, like those of all Pabib) touching the street. A hush fell over the populace. To my vast surprise, she pointed one chubby finger directly at me.

“You, lad!” she said imperiously. “What species are you?”

“Human, your highness,” I said, bowing. I hoped I wasn’t supposed to doff my hat for her.

“Hyooo-maan,” she rolled the syllables around her mouth. “Yes, I have heard of you, but I don’t have any of your kind in my…entourage. Lad, how would you like to visit the palace?”

I glanced at the Doctor, who was shaking his head emphatically. My sentiments exactly. Alien facial expressions can be hard to interpret, but hers had a definite element of leering.

“Thank you, your highness, but I’m a bit busy today,” I said, keeping my eyes respectfully downcast.

“Whatever business you have, I can send someone to take care of it. A handsome boy like you should be allowed to focus on other _needs_.” As she spoke, she closed the distance between us. With the last syllable she reached down and closed her fingers around my pair of socks, and I don’t mean the ones on my feet.

Even though I don’t have the body parts she was aiming for, her grope was uncomfortably personal. My cheeks burned. My hand rose of its own accord to deliver a blow to her cheek, though I stopped myself before I struck or she noticed. The Queen looked shocked at what she felt, probably wondering what strange sort of endowment my species possessed.

Her eyes narrowed as she stared hard at my face. With a sinking feeling, I realized that I had been sweating in the heat. My mustache was coming loose on one side. The Queen’s hand darted out and ripped the mustache from my face, then flung off my cap to reveal the pinned-up mass of hair.

“A rogue female! Seize her!” the monarch shrieked, literally quivering with anger.

The Doctor’s hand closed around mine. “Running time now!” he announced, far too cheerfully.

We tore off through the market, shoving aside confused pedestrians. On the run, the Doctor pointed the sonic screwdriver at an awning and sent it tumbling down to interfere with our pursuit. Behind me, I could hear the Queen’s shrill voice.

“Off with their heads!” she yelled furiously.

My jaw dropped. “Did she honestly just say that?” I gasped.

“Oh yes!” said the Doctor with a manic grin, pulling me through a maze of back alleys. I barked with laughter, but got myself under control as quickly as possible. With my chest so tightly tied up I needed all my oxygen for running.

* * * * * * * * * *

We reached the TARDIS safely, slamming the ticket booth door against our last pursuers. I immediately reached under my shirt and undid the scarf binding my breasts. The bra wasn’t great, but it could wait until I was back in my room. I closed my eyes in relief and flopped onto the jumpseat.

“Well, that was a success!” the Doctor said merrily. I opened my eyes in order to stare incredulously at him.

“We just got chased by the Queen’s guards. They nearly beheaded us!” I reminded him.

“But they didn’t!” He rummaged around in his shopping bag, pulling out various incomprehensible bits of machinery. “_And_ I was able to buy everything we needed before the chase.”

“The Queen tried to make me part of her harem! I don’t count that as a success.”

“You should be flattered! Most Pabib men would kill for that chance.”

“She groped me!” I said indignantly.

The Doctor’s face abruptly sobered. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I sighed resignedly. “Had worse than that in clubs in London. This isn’t even the first time I’ve been groped by a monarch. Back in the other universe, Alexander the Great might as well be called Alexander the Grabby, but _he_ didn’t care if you were female or male.”

“I’ve noticed that,” said the Doctor with a glum, knowing expression.

“You? Felt up by Alexander the Great?!” I asked, gobsmacked. He glanced away evasively, causing me to completely crack up. He looked annoyed for a few moments, but as I kept laughing his mouth twitched into a smile, then the laughter proved contagious. He collapsed onto the seat beside me. We laughed until my sides hurt.

“It will take a bit to get these parts installed, but I think you’ve earned the right to pick our next destination,” he informed me.

“A matriarchal society. A real one, with power to all the women and not just the queen,” I announced without the slightest hesitation.

“That can be done.”

“Someplace _you_ have to wear a dress,” I challenged him.

“No way,” he said firmly.

I grinned wickedly. “A nice skirt with a cute little top would do.”

“No!”

“I think you could really work a pair of high heels,” I suggested helpfully.

“Absolutely not!” rumbled the Doctor, standing up in order to better glower at me.

“You’d need a wig, of course, and I think a bit of lipstick would show off those lips quite beautifully.”

“You win! I’ll never ask you to pass as male again!” he said with exasperation. “But I refuse to do drag.”

“You’re no fun at all,” I pouted, wrinkling my nose at him. “Still, I suppose that’s a deal.”

A playful spark lit in the Doctor’s eyes. “Good. You’ve got to admit, though that the Queen agreed with me that you made a handsome boy.”

“Are you saying I should keep the mustache and the socks in my trousers?”

“Nah. You’re much better as a woman.” He disappeared deep under the console, leaving me alone with my trouser socks and a startled smile.


End file.
